


A Contract

by DiseasedBreeze



Series: Slade/Jason Week 2019 [4]
Category: DCU (Comics), Deathstroke the Terminator (Comics)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Batman Ninja - Freeform, Contracts, Feudal Japan AU, Gen, Implied Date, M/M, Mild Blood, Ninja Monk!Jason, Samurai!Slade, Slade/Jason Week 2019, referenced child death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-07
Updated: 2019-04-07
Packaged: 2020-01-06 05:07:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,974
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18381572
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DiseasedBreeze/pseuds/DiseasedBreeze
Summary: Two men met at a crossroads; one is a hired killer, the other an oath-bound protector. Neither are native to this place but both are making their way in this world the best they know how. Feudal Japan was one of the last places Jason expected to find a familiar face, pity it was the face of an enemy.Takes place prior to the Batman Ninja movie, loose grip on canon.





	A Contract

A monk and a samurai meet at a crossroads.

It sounds like a joke.

He hated jokes.

The palanquin is made of smooth lacquered wood, uselessly ornate and covered in the kind of crass trash the wealthy used to flaunt their status to the poor. It made him sick, it always would.

The pallbearers scatter when he unsheathes his sword. Smart. They were paid to be menial labor, not play hero. They weren’t in a position to be choosy about the kind of scum that hired them for their strong backs. He hated when they were slow or stupid and made him cut them down to get to his target.

That just left one samurai between him and his target.

No crest on his bicolored armor; he’s got no Lord funding him but seeing as how his target wasn’t a Lord of course he’s hired a Ronin. One Samurai was a light bodyguard if you were aware you’ve pissed off ninjas but the sword at his hip isn’t a katana or even a wakizashi. It’s distinctly _familiar_ because apparently the universe just wants to fuck him over.

“Evening Jason.” Deathstroke says in English as he rests his hand on the hilt of the sword he named himself after.

Jason doesn’t bother asking how it knows it’s him, he could be any fuke monk ninja with a red tengai. Slade fought enough Bats to recognize the stance and like hell is he going to use a less effective form just to make himself harder to identify.

Jason’s eyes narrow beneath his helmet. He hasn’t heard spoken English in a long time, wearing a full head cover and a lot of practice means he isn’t as obviously a foreigner as he was when he first arrived. Slade isn’t even wearing the fucking mask any more.

“Move side Slade.” Jason growls at him, aware he’s now got a hint of accent from so long speaking Japanese. “I’ve got business with the arms dealer.”

He points his blade at Slade’s employer and the man flinches.

“Now I’m afraid I can’t let you do that.” Slade says quietly, unsheathing the sword enough for light to shine off a few inches of exposed metal.

“He’s scum Slade, he deserves to die!” Jason snarls at him.

“Maybe.” Light shines off the edge of Slade’s sword. “But his money’s good.”

He turns to the client.

“< _Stay inside. I’ll handle the ninja_.>” He addresses him in Japanese.

“< _Going to **handle** me, huh?>_” Jason snarls. “You Yojimbo now? Bodyguarding this piece of shit?”

“I make do. What would you have done if I wasn’t?” Slade grins. “Something daddy would disapprove of?”

“ _Daddy_ isn’t here!” Jason growls and lunges forwards.

His blade slides along the length of Slade’s sword, and of all the things Slade could have learned here the quick-draw technique was one Jason hoped he hadn’t picked up. More bad luck.

Slade smirks as Jason has to pull back or have the promethium plated sword cut through the crossguard into his hand. Of the things he had on him when he got teleported a fucking _sword_ wasn’t one of them. The concealed blade he’d earned here was the finest the blacksmiths could make. Slade could still chop it in half if he got the chance.

Jason’s determined not to give him that chance.

He hurls shurikens, some made here, some he’d ‘borrowed’ from the bat cave for the night’s patrol. Slade stops to deflect them rather than cut them out of the air. They stick in the red lacquered wood and ruin the finish. Good. anyone who tries to use it now will see the marks left from pissing off ninjas.

“Was that _tengai_ red when you got it or did you stain it yourself?” Slade asks with a snort and moves into an attack stance.

Jason bets that he’s still got the Ikon Suit on under his armor. It looks like Slade had stolen the set and had it repainted to match his theme. The weight of it slowed Slade down a little but he was still an enhanced metahuman, it was a tiny advantage. The overlapping metal plates meant there was little exposed flesh to stick a batarang in which balanced things out more. He didn’t have the tools to crack through that metal shell _and_ the Ikon Suit underneath. Either way it was heavier than the robe Jason was wearing and armor wouldn’t save him from the promethium sword anyway. Speed and agility was his advantage. He dances back out of range of the blade and slips a couple of low-yield explosives into his other hand. The Bat Ninja Clan gives him access to the right kind of tools.

“How did you get that armor Slade?” Jason asks.

He knows he wasn’t the only one with the misfortune to drop through a twist in space-time and end up here. So far he was the only one of his family who had ended up here but Harvey and Oswald were making a bid to divide the country between them. No wonder Slade had slipped under the radar; it took months for the news to spread and the one-eyed mercenary never had dreams of complete domination. He was likely still little more than a legend to the common people.

“Someone with fancy armor challenged me for my sword, so I killed him and took his stuff.” Slade explains as coolly as if he was discussing the weather. “I’ve got a collection going.”

“You’re despicable!” Jason snarls.

“I do what I have to.” Slade replies.

He quite liked being a wandering ronin, there was no shortage of people looking to hire a skilled swordsman. Early on he'd saved a village from bandits and been offered a home there, then people had started challenging him to duels and he'd kept the village afloat with his winnings.

Besides he _liked_ the honor duels. There was pure, clean simplicity in a fight of a single cut…

Jason hurls the smoke bombs, they explode in mid-air and the merchant covers his mouth with his sleeve in case it’s poisoned.

“What do you want from him?” Slade asks curiously, inclining his head towards his shivering client.

There’s barely a flicker of shadow before Jason is leaping down from above, raising spark as his blade sinks into the cross guard of Slade’s sword half-raised to block. He puts his full bodyweight into it, trying to force the blade back towards the samurai’s throat. No problem for a true samurai, but Slade’s sword was double-edged.

“Information on the arms deals.” Jason snarls and shoves.

Slade raises an eyebrow, bracing himself and standing his ground.

“That it?” He sounds unimpressed.

Jason removes the pressure suddenly, causing the mercenary to slide forwards an inch as he ducks in with a shorter blade and attempts to hamstring him. The blade scratches up the metal, digging into the seam along the thigh before Slade steps back and raises the sword for another blow.

“I want to slit his fat pig throat and watch him bleed out on the dirt!” Jason screams and nearly doesn’t pull away in time. The sword clips the front of his robes, tearing through the dark cloth.

Slade whistles.

“Daddy would disapprove indeed.” He says, raising the blade to shoulder height.

“I already told you old man!” Jason yells and tosses the flash grenade. It has a beautiful arc, emerging lit from the fog and detonating at eye-height in time with his next words. “He’s not here!”

He lashes out at the samurai’s stomach with the butt of his sword, aiming to crush not slice, and Slade’s elbow comes down on his arm. There’s a crunch but thankfully not a break. Jason rolls with it, retreating back into the smoke cloud.

Damn him, Slade closed his eye just in time to block out the worst of it. He’d still be dazzled, they didn’t half-ass flash bangs around here, but he didn’t have the tools to crack open this lobster right now. Every hit that doesn’t incapacitate is only charging the Ikon Suit and moving back in time didn’t limit the mercenary’s healing ability. The longer this battle went on the more it was weighted against him.

“Let this one go baby bird.” Slade says smoothly, twisting the tip of his sword so it cuts through the curls of smoke.

“He’s scum, he deserves to die!” Jason roars and flings the shuriken in an arc.

The impact the palanquin with a series of dull thuds, well over Slade’s head. The whimpering armsdealer about to run for it creeps back inside.

“I’m not disputing that.” Slade is unaffected. “Just do it at a time when he’s not my client.”

Jason growls again.

Slade sighs and moves as if to sheathe the sword.

“What are you really angry about?” He asks.

“ _Excuse_ me?!” Jason barks.

“This is a fight you can’t win son.” Slade says bluntly. “Not by yourself, not without wasting resources you can’t afford to replace.”

“I should take you down just for saying that.” Jason replies, throwing his voice so it’s impossible to tell which part of the smog it has come from.

His fingers twitch around the blade of his heaviest throwing knife. He hadn’t managed it yet but he wants to pluck out Slade’s other eye for the insult.

Slade sighs and sheathes the sword.

“Look, any other time I’d be happy to fight you, but you’re taking this awfully personally. You only get like this when something really pisses you off. Before I give you a beatdown I want to know why you’re not fighting at your best.” He says and folds his arms.

God, it was so tempting to see if he could get the kunai all the way into his eye socket. He can almost _taste_ the blood and that’s how he knows he has to back off. If he let go of control now, if he lets the red mist come down and loses himself he knows he could do it. He could kill Slade Wilson and his target and get to bleed out from his wounds on a dirt road in feudal Japan.

Anger burns strongly within him but he can’t give into it, it’s just not worth it. His life isn’t worth trading for that scumbag’s.

He forces himself to breathe out.

“Someone I cared about is dead because of him.” He says.

“A friend?” Slade asks in the tone that means he’s asking about other vigilantes.

“A kid.” Jason replies.

There is a brief silence in which Jason sees something like an emotion pass Slade’s face.

“Who?” The mercenary asks.

“A beggar boy.” Jason tells him. “And don’t you _dare_ tell me he didn’t matter.”

“I didn’t kill him.” Slade says with a hint of urgency.

Jason laughs, a hollow, hateful sound.

“If I thought you did you’d be deepthroating your sword right now.” The tip of his own blade circled in mid-air. “Wonder why you got the job?”

“Guess I should be thanking you then.” Slade shifts, ready to draw steel if attacked.

“Step _aside_ Slade.” Jason demands in a low growl.

Slade sighs and draws his sword again.

“Let’s make a deal boy.” He says, holding the blade out flat, neither attacking or defending. “My client there doesn’t know much, but it’s amazing how many people think I don’t speak Japanese. Let me complete my contract, then you can complete yours and I’ll give you the information you need.”

Jason growls, the smoke is being dispersed by the wind, his advantage won’t last for longer.

“Boy, think with your head not your heart for once.” Slade growls at him. “I don’t want to hurt you any more than I have to.”

Jason snarls and his hand tightens on the grip of his sword until his knuckles are white.

“I’ll throw in where in the inn he sleeps.” Slade adds.

Jason’s jaw snaps shut and he forces himself to unclench his teeth. He has to remind himself this isn’t Gotham; there was no cave to drag himself back to if he gets seriously hurt. Slade will heal, but he won’t.

“You don’t need to make an enemy of me right now Jason.” Slade adds darkly and damn him, he was right.

Best case scenario here would be killing the scumbag and having Slade hunt him as revenge for the stiffed fee.

“ _Fine._ ” Jason snarls and sheathes his sword.

The last grey wisps of smoke are swept from the ground between them.

“I still get to kill the bastard.” He growls and forces his hand to leave the hilt of his sword. His knuckles crack.

“Once he’s paid me, yes.” Slade replies, shifting out of his ready stance.

“It’s always about money with you.” Jason spits.

Slade’s gaze hardens.

“I have a duty to others here just as you do < _Bat Clan ninja >._” He puts the term in Japanese so that his client knows just who he has made his enemy. “Let’s at least make a proper show of it, call it a sparring.”

He smirks, a thoroughly _irritating_ expression.

“It might get some of your aggression out.” Slade says and Jason decides agreement or not he’s sticking a dagger through that smug, smirking face.

Unfortunately it seems Slade’s not in the mood to indulge him in that, the bastard.

Even using the flat of the blade still _hurts_ and he’s sure Slade’s bruising him on purpose. Jason can’t quite lose himself but focusing entirely on getting to _hurt_ the metahuman samurai at least takes his mind of finding that pale little body curled up the in gutter…

he'd asked for coins, that was it, a thin starving child dressed in rags had begged for a little charity and the merchant had him cut down for daring to address him. Jason had already disposed of the man who held the blade, he'd been a thug but he should have known better that to obey that order. 

Slade’s sword cuts into the fabric of his robe, leaving a few scratches on his skin but, honestly, outmatching Slade in a straight sword fight would be beyond him. Jason keeps his actual tools of the trade; the good shuriken, the poisons, the powders that the peasants called magic, hidden away. They weren’t easy to manufacture and wouldn’t do much against Slade anyway. It’s mostly an excuse to pretend his scream were Kiai rather than his anger at being unable to prevent the death of a child.

Eventually he is actually panting for breath and his anger has cooled into something settling in his bones. He would have revenge still, just not now. Like a snake in the grass he would wait to strike. He settles into the best form to seek any weaknesses in Slade’s armor. It would be naïve to think they wouldn’t soon have a rematch under higher stakes. He'd be ready for it.

“I will need to stab you.” Slade says casually as he deflects three shuriken off the back of his blade.

“Really?” Jason asks as he ducks back from a blow.

“I’m not doing this for free.” Slade points out. “I still need to get paid. This will not happen if they think I let you live”

Jason growls, pacing the ground like a big cat in a small cage.

“Left shoulder.” He eventually spits out. “Don’t go too deep.”

“This isn’t my first rodeo.” Slade says and without warning or giving him time to prepare himself lunges forwards and plunges the blade into the flesh of Jason’s shoulder.

“Fuck!” Jason screams, mostly out of surprise and partially out of frustration.

Slade pulls the bloodied blade free. Already his promethium-plated sword was being talked about like it was Excalibur. A spray of blood dots the ground; he shakes his sword so the blood splatter looks more serious.

“There.” He says. “You’re dead.”

Even through his mask Slade can tell the boy is glaring at him as he holds his shoulder.

“There’s a good bar in smallfield.” Slade says, using the English translation rather than the Japanese name to stop his client from recognizing what he’s talking about. “Called the rivermoon. Met me there at half-past sundown and I’ll buy you a drink and we can catch up. You’ll get your info then.”

Jason silently glares and raises two fingers.

“Two drinks, fine, it's a date. Now scram.”

The ninja monk fades back into the shadows with only a splattering of blood to show he was ever there.

Slade smirks and knocks on the roof of the palanquin. A pair of beady black eyes set in a flabby face peak out at him.

“< _The ninja is handled. >”_ He says. Technically true.

The client’s eyes narrow suspiciously at the lack of a body.

“< _Ninjas_.>” Slade says dismissively “< _Who knows of their magic ways?_ >” Some of them he’d quite like to learn himself.

“< _You killed him? >” _The client asks, taking in the lack of damage on him. “< _A ninja of the Bat Clan? >_”

Slade sighs internally, the Bat Ninjas had much the same reputation in the eyes of the locals as Batman did in Gotham. They would believe it if he’d said Jason had turned into a snake. Instead he holds up his sword so that light catches the blood on the blade.

“< _This is the sword that always kills its target_.>” Slade reminds him “< _That rends through the strongest of armor and most powerful of magics like a bolt of lightning through a cloud, second only to Kusanagi of legend._ >” And while he was here he was going to track down _that_ particular sword as a souvenir.

 His client looks appropriately cowed.

“< _You are safe until we reach Ohara. >” _Slade reminds him as he cleans the blood from his blade and awaits the return of the pallbearers. “< _We have a contract. >_”


End file.
